


Awakening

by Venusdoom3



Series: Belonging [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Almost Second Base, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Because supersoldier immunity that's why, Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bubble Bath, Bucky Barnes Returns, Cooking, Domestic Steve/Bucky, Endearments, Fantasizing, Fluff and Smut, Former Lovers - Freeform, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Healing Bucky, In Hiding, Is that a banana in Steve's pocket or is he just happy to see Bucky?, Kissing, Light Angst, Likewise Bucky's sure, M/M, Masturbation, Memories, Moving In Together, Nudity, Panic Attack, Pining, Protective Steve, Rimming, Sensitive Steve, Shameless Smut, Shower Groping, Skype therapy, So Much Kissing OMG, Tactile Bucky, Technically Fugitives, Touch-Starved Bucky, Touching, bucky has anxiety, more kissing, on the lam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9565130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venusdoom3/pseuds/Venusdoom3
Summary: The house itself is small but welcoming, and when Steve brings the car to a stop, Bucky hops out almost before the gearshift is in park."Stevie – this is the place? This is where we're gonna live?" His gray eyes wide, Bucky turns in a circle, trying to take in everything at once. He's never seen a place as beautiful.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bev/gifts).



> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://venusdoom3.tumblr.com), if that's a thing you do!
> 
> This is both a prompt fic (thanks, Bev!) and a prequel to Belonging.
> 
> The prompt: "Write what you think should have happened after Civil War. I kind of hoped being together. Not Bucky getting froze again." I may not have nailed it exactly, but I hope you like it! 
> 
> At least one more chapter to go; I'll update the tags as necessary. I marked it as Explicit because (of course) I'm thinking it'll go there.

Bucky opens his eyes a slit against a gauzy light that seems to envelop him, and he briefly entertains the idea that he might be dead until a dark form appears in his field of vision, temporarily blotting out the light. He blinks to clear his eyes, and as he squints at the form, it sharpens into a familiar shape.

"Steve," he croaks, trying to sit up, but Steve presses a gentle palm against his shoulder to discourage him. Bucky makes a distressed noise and flinches, the innocent touch overwhelming his senses, and Steve pulls his hand back as if burned.

"Hey, Buck," Steve says, the wide grin that had lit up his face fading only a little bit. "Just lie there and rest a bit, okay? You're defrosted, but they're running some IV fluids through you to make sure your electrolytes are balanced and all that."

"I was under?" The only times Bucky remembered being tethered to an IV pole were the times the Winter Soldier was taken out of cryogenic suspension in preparation for a mission. Putting that together with his rusty voice and muzzy head, he didn't need to wait for an answer. "How long?"

"A little over twelve weeks," Steve says, his voice breaking in the middle, and Bucky recognizes the way he blinks the telltale redness out of his eyes and squares his shoulders as if challenging the tears themselves.

"Where are we?"

"We're still in Wakanda, at T'Challa's compound." A tiny line appears between Steve's eyebrows. "Do you remember?"

Bucky glances at his left side, where his arm is still missing, the remaining few inches below the shoulder sheathed in something resembling a sock. It all floods back at once then, his years on the run, reuniting with Steve, the war that divided the Avengers, and the final battle with Iron Man – _Tony_ , he reminds himself, _Howard's kid_ – that left him without an arm and Steve without his shield and his team. He remembers being taken in, along with Steve, by the generous and benevolent King T'Challa, and he remembers requesting to be put in cold storage again until—

"Twelve weeks – that's it?" Bucky asks in shock, then frowns, suspicious. "Steve… _please_ tell me they didn't pull me out of cryo without—"

"Hey," Steve interrupts, pulling a nearby chair closer to the hospital-type bed and taking a seat, then presses a button to raise the head of the bed to about forty-five degrees. "I promised you that wouldn't happen, and it didn't."

"You mean they…" Bucky chokes on his own voice, and Steve nods.

"T'Challa had some of his best scientists and neurologists working on it. They've come up with a way to target the brainwashing without damaging your brain or taking away any of your memories. It’s a little too high-tech for me to explain, but they said it can be done in under an hour." Steve pauses, then drops his eyes and mumbles, "That is, if you want to do it. It's your choice; I'd never take that away from you. If you want to—"

"Shut up, numbnuts." Bucky smirks when Steve blinks in surprise. "There's nothing I want more in the world than to stop living in fear of turning into a monster. Except maybe one thing."

Steve's face lifts into the cautiously hopeful expression Bucky remembers well from their life together before they were torn apart by war, by Hydra, by Zola, by the train and the fall and the decades of unmitigated horror that followed. "What?"

Bucky stares at the pristine white blanket covering his knees. "Not yet," he murmurs, quirking a half smile. "Maybe I'll tell you when they get this shit out of my head."

**

"Grip this."

Bucky tightens his new hand around the pencil, half expecting either to snap it or drop it onto the tabletop, but he does neither, and he looks up at to find his therapist, a striking Wakandan woman with close-cropped hair and green eyes named N'geli, who beams. "You see?" N'geli says in her soothing voice and heavily accented English. "You are improving every day."

"It feels pretty good," Bucky ventures, rolling his shoulder, still unaccustomed to the near weightlessness and improved dexterity of his new vibranium arm, designed by T'Challa's lead engineer. Since the arm was attached to his body three weeks before through a grueling six-hour surgery – the arm operates entirely off his own nervous system, so the procedure required caution and delicacy – he has been cautiously amazed at the lack of pain in his back and shoulders; because of the weight of his previous arm, he spent years enduring such discomfort without even realizing it. Only now that he is allowed, even _encouraged_ , to be comfortable does he notice the difference, and _damn_ , does he appreciate being comfortable – more so than ever.

"Good." N'geli leans forward, clasping her hands on the table in front of her. She holds their twice weekly counseling sessions in one of the Wakandan compound's various lounges, she and Bucky sitting across a small, café-style table from each other while a noise machine simulating the sound of crashing ocean waves sits outside the closed door, preventing anyone outside the room from overhearing their murmured conversations. "And how do _you_ feel now that the testing is complete?"

Bucky draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly, gazing out the window past N'geli at the Wakandan landscape, all lush greenery, stone cliffs, and waterfalls. He knows he should feel relief now that he has passed the final round of mental and neurological testing; he believes N'geli and the other doctors and scientists who have pronounced him free for once and for all of HYDRA's mind control. Indeed, he _is_ relieved in many ways, but a dark undercurrent still flows beneath the surface of his skin. "I'm nervous," he says, speaking to his hands where they lay in his lap.

"What makes you nervous, James?"

Bucky sees no reason to be any less than honest with her. His sanity and stability are as much her goals for their sessions as they are his, and he has already confessed his deepest and darkest secrets to her during previous sessions. "I mean, Steve and I don't want to go our separate ways again when we leave here. We're still basically fugitives, anyway, so it makes sense for us to stick together. And besides that, I can admit when I'm being selfish; I don't want to be without him again. Ever."

N'geli regards him with curiosity. "How does that make you nervous?"

"I guess…" Bucky sighs. "A lot of ways. We've already accepted too much of the king's hospitality, and besides that, we're – _I'm_ – ready to get back out in the world, but I know I won't feel as protected anywhere else as I do here. I know, I know – that's no reason to stay. I'm also scared of being found and having to face the U.S. government. I don't want Steve _or_ me in prison."

"What else?"

"I still have nightmares," he says, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm afraid of hurting Steve without meaning to."

With a tiny smile, N'geli lifts an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay." Bucky rolls his eyes, his smile a ghost of the one he wore in another life. "I'm in love with him. You _know_ I am. But what if he doesn't feel the same way anymore? It's been a long time since we were together in that way, and everything's different now. The world, me, him, _everything_. What if I put myself out there and he can't reciprocate?"

"James," N'geli says, "only you can decide when or if you are willing to take that step, but I can tell you one thing for sure: I am happy to discuss it with you as long and as often as you want to, but I am not the person you _must_ discuss it with to put your fears behind you."

He sighs again. "I know."

**

A week later, Steve turns their car – an aging, nondescript silver Toyota purchased over the internet and registered in the same fake name printed on Steve's fake driver's license – down yet another in a series of winding country roads, this one dusty and unpaved, lined by trees whose leaves, brilliant shades of red and yellow and orange, have yet to begin falling.

"This is it," Steve says, his voice tight with excitement. "Aw, Buck – I hope you like it. I hope you _love_ it."

Zipping his plush, Sherpa-lined blue hooded sweatshirt, Bucky glances sideways at him from the passenger seat, his now customary faint smile touching his lips. "I know I will, punk. Quit worryin' already."

 _I'm one to talk_ , he thinks as the car bumps along the gravel road. They've been on the ground less than two hours since T'Challa's plane deposited them at a small airport, where the car was waiting for them, registered, insured, fueled, and ready for them, thanks to the Wakandan king's underground American connections. _All I_ do _is worry._

The gravel road is actually a long driveway, a truth that becomes apparent when it emerges from the shelter of the trees into a large clearing – at least two acres, if Bucky had to guess – with a small house set toward the back. Other than the driveway itself, the property is surrounded by forest. The house itself is small but welcoming, and when Steve brings the car to a stop, Bucky hops out almost before the gearshift is in park.

"Stevie – this is the place? This is where we're gonna _live_?" His gray eyes wide, Bucky turns in a circle, trying to take in everything at once. He's never seen a place as beautiful, not even T'Challa's heart-stopping compound or the miles of gorgeous jungles and mountains surrounding it.

Laughing, Steve nods, his boots crunching on the gravel as he comes to stand next to Bucky. The sun is setting over the trees, and the way its golden light surrounds Steve takes away whatever remaining breath Bucky has. The property is beautiful, but it doesn't hold a candle to Steve Rogers. Nothing does. "Do you like it?" Steve asks shyly, and Bucky barks out an incredulous laugh.

"Are you fuckin' kidding? This is perfect, Stevie. I _do_ love it. Can we see the inside?"

"Of course, ya chucklehead." Steve grins and pops the trunk, easily slinging the four duffle bags containing their only possessions over his shoulders. He drops the keys into Bucky's hand. "Lead the way, pal."

Bucky bounds up the wooden steps to the tiny porch and unlocks the door, which opens onto a small mudroom, where they kick off their shoes before entering the house. Steve sets down their duffel bags while Bucky shuffles inside in his socks, wide-eyed, taking in the furnished open floor plan. The furnishings appear used but in good condition, the wood pieces stained a dark oak and polished until they gleam. The kitchen is small, divided from the rest of the house only by virtue of being the shorter arm of the L-shaped floor plan, and shares the same wood floor and ivory-painted walls as the rest of the main room, which includes the living room area and a two-person dining table. In the far corner sits a wood-burning stove.

"This is great," Bucky breathes, running his fingertips over the pitted surface of the table and then testing the softness of the deep green fabric upholstering the small couch. "I can't believe you found this place on the internet. The future doesn't totally suck."

Steve laughs, the sound of it planting a seed of warmth in Bucky's chest that spreads its tendrils throughout his body. "I guess this is the bathroom," Steve says, poking his head inside one of the two interior doors leading off the main room and switching on the light. "Come look, Buck. As soon as I saw pictures, I knew you'd love this."

Joining him in the doorway, Bucky draws a quick, delighted breath. "This is awesome!" He slips past Steve and crosses the small room to climb, fully clothed, into the great big vintage clawfoot tub. "Shit, there's room for both of us in here," he says without thinking, and his cheeks warm immediately.

For his part, Steve's face reddens even faster. "Ha... yeah," he says, turning to poke around in the cabinets beneath the sink. "Well, with how tactile you've been since... you know, I figured we should have a place for you to take a bath if you wanted one."

Clambering out of the tub with a shortage of grace but enough enthusiasm to make up for it, Bucky offers Steve a small but genuine smile. "Thanks, Stevie. I mean it."

Steve stammers for a moment before finding his vocal footing. "You're – I'd – I just thought you, y'know, deserve a place where you're comfortable," he mumbles, visibly awkward. "I mean, if we're going to be in hiding, we might as well enjoy it."

"You got that right." Bucky stares into Steve's eyes for a long moment, neither moving a muscle, until Steve twitches and smiles. "Come on," he says, gesturing for Bucky to follow him out of the room, and Bucky suppresses a sigh, lingering behind with a wistful eye on the bathtub. He can't help picturing himself and Steve immersed in steaming hot water topped with mounds of bubbles. 

"Hey, Buck – come see the bedroom!"

Gritting his teeth against his disappointment  and frustrated at himself for being too afraid of hurting Steve to touch him – not to mention too complicated and opaque for Steve to read him the way he used to with ease – Bucky follows Steve into the only room in the tiny house he hasn't seen yet. The bedroom is painted a soothing shade of blue with thick, fairly new beige carpet covering the floor; it's larger than Bucky expected, with a big, open closet at one end and a queen bed at the other. An enormous brown teddy bear is propped against the pillows, and Bucky laughs, shooting Steve a sidelong glance.

"That guy's for you," Steve says, lips pursed in an adorably bashful smile, and Bucky wants so badly to kiss him that his lips tingle at the thought, but he doesn't dare. "I bought him online, too, so I hope he's as soft as the website said."

Swallowing an unexpected lump in his throat, Bucky picks up the bear, which is at least four feet high, and hugs it tightly against his chest, burying his face in its silky soft, tawny fur. It feels heavenly against his warm cheeks. The bear itself is extremely fluffy, yielding quite a bit when he gives its foot an experimental squeeze, and he lifts his head to meet Steve's eyes. "Thank you," he whispers, not trusting his voice. Steve has always been thoughtful, but he's even more so in the twenty-first century.

"The bed should be good, too." Flushed, Steve presses his fingertips into the bedspread. "I ordered a memory foam mattress to help you sleep. I thought maybe if you're getting better quality sleep, your nightmares might not be so bad. I don't know; it's a theory."

A hesitant smile touches Bucky's lips. "You're too good to me; y'know that?"

Steve clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothin's too good for you, Buck."

The beat of silence that follows is awkward, but it's over quickly. "Are you hungry?" Steve asks, edging toward the bedroom door. "I had a bunch of groceries delivered. I can—"

"No, _I'll_ cook," Bucky interrupts, thrusting the giant bear into Steve's arms and shivering with pleasure when Steve's fingertips graze his forearm as a result. Contact between them has been minimal at Bucky's unspoken but clearly understood request. He knows if he explains his reasoning – that he's afraid of hurting Steve; extreme skittishness and lightning-fast reflexes are a terrible combination – Steve won't rest until he's argued the jagged edges of Bucky's logic smooth, and Bucky has no intention of letting his guard down and injuring Steve as a result. No one knows how tenacious Steve is better than Bucky does.

Besides, what Bucky is really afraid of is allowing physical contact only to find out Steve doesn't crave it the same way he does. In a way, not knowing is better.

"Who are you kidding?" Steve laughs, tossing the bear onto the bed and following Bucky back out to the kitchen. "Since when can you cook?"

"I'll have you know I microwave a mean can of soup," Bucky retorts, "and nobody pours a bowl of cereal more artfully than yours truly."

Shaking his head, Steve rummages around in the refrigerator, emerging with his hands full of ingredients, which he deposits onto the counter. He hands Bucky a package of mushrooms. "Here," he says, turning to unwrap a three-pound package of chicken. "I'll chop up the chicken while you slice those. Might as well christen our new place with one of your ma's best recipes, right?"

Bucky's eyes widen. "Oh my God. Tell me you remember how to make Ma's chicken a la king."

" _Remember_?" Steve grins over his shoulder. "It's been one of my go-to meals since I came out of the ice. It was just me, so I'd make a big batch and eat it for days. Besides, it always made me think of you, and I don't know… I didn't feel so alone when I thought of you."

As Steve begins cutting the chicken breasts into chunks, Bucky holds the Styrofoam container of fat white mushrooms against his chest and watches him, drinking in the smooth, effortless flow of muscles beneath Steve's t-shirt and the way he absently – and tunelessly – hums as he works. Slipping back into a domestic life with Steve feels so comfortable he can almost pretend their previous one didn't end in war and death and blood and horror.

**

When Bucky enters the bedroom after brushing his teeth and changing in the bathroom into flannel pajama pants and an oversized, long-sleeved thermal shirt, he finds Steve pulling a thin blanket and a flat pillow from the top shelf of the closet. "Sleep well, pal," Steve says, passing Bucky on his way toward the door. "See you in the morning."

"Wait – where are you going?" Bucky asks, brow furrowing, pausing beside the bed. Steve has considerately turned down the covers on the bed, but only on one side.

Steve points over his shoulder with his thumb. "I'm gonna bunk on the couch."

Bucky almost thinks twice of asking but surprises himself by doing it anyway. "Why?"

The expression on Steve's face is one Bucky recognizes well; it's his _I can't believe I have to explain this to you_ face, the one Bucky occasionally used to play dumb just to draw out of him. "I understand you need your space," Steve says in a low, gentle voice. "It's really okay, Buck. You've been through a lot. Believe me, if anybody understands, it's me."

Scowling, Bucky sits on the bed, pulling the oversized teddy bear into his lap. He opens his mouth to speak and instead surprises the living shit out of himself by letting out a soft, hitching sob, followed immediately by a tear falling over the lower lashes of each eye.

"Buck?" Steve drops the blanket and pillow on the floor and crosses the room in a second, crouching next to the bed. Bucky lifts his eyes from the floor to meet Steve's and is immediately unable to look away, drawn to the unfathomable blue depths by the memory of staring into these eyes a million times over. "What is it?"

"Don't... don't leave." Bucky buries his face in the bear's soft head, so what he says next comes out muffled. "It's the first night in a long time outside the compound. I'm... nervous."

"You want me to stay in the room with you?" Steve unfurls from his crouch and takes a seat on the bed next to Bucky, leaving space between them.

 _I want you to stay,_ Bucky thinks, hiding his desperation in the bear's fur. _I want you to sleep next to me. I want you to hold me. I want you to protect me and comfort me and love me the way you used to. I want everything I used to have with you and don't deserve anymore._

Instead, all he says is: "Please."

Steve shifts a bit next to him, and Bucky hazards a peek from his fluffy hiding spot. Steve is redder than before, chewing his lower lip, and a wild urge sweeps over Bucky to lean in and run the tip of his tongue over that glistening red lip, if for no other reason than to find out if Steve still tastes as good as he always did. "Okay," Steve murmurs with a tiny smile when he catches Bucky looking at him. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable, buddy. I'll just go grab the couch cushions and–"

Bucky lifts his head to shake it in a surprisingly vehement gesture. "No, in the bed."

Swallowing visibly, Steve nods. "You'll be okay with that? It's only a queen, and we're both pretty big."

Nodding, Bucky soothes his tremors and the butterflies in his stomach by rubbing his face against the bear. _What if I hurt him? What if I wake up and find my hands around his throat and it's too late?_ It is inevitable, though, has always been inevitable that Bucky would crave the comfort and warmth of Steve lying next to him.

Watching Steve skirt the bed and climb in on the other side, giving Bucky a reassuring smile as he does, Bucky slides under the covers, the tension in his shoulders bleeding out when his head touches the pillow. Steve really is close; with both of them tucked into the queen bed, there are only a few inches to spare between them. When Steve switches off the light and whispers his goodnight, Bucky closes his eyes tightly, wishing with all his might that Steve would touch him and hoping for Steve's sake that he doesn't.

**

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've spent all this time not touching you because _you_ didn't want me to," Steve says, stricken. "What made you think it wasn't okay for you to touch _me?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I may or may not dip my toe into earning that explicit rating up there. ;)

** Chapter 2 **

Bucky awakens a little after four in the morning with Steve's big, warm hand resting on Bucky's pillow, his fingers brushing Bucky's face. The room is dark, but as his eyes adjust, the gentle glow from the alarm clock on his side of the bed allows him to see Steve's sleeping face, just as angelic as ever, brow smooth and full lips parted, long, dark eyelashes resting against his cheeks. They had slept in separate bedrooms in the same suite while in Wakanda; the last time Bucky really watched Steve sleep was during the war. He remembers it so clearly the memory nearly overlaps his current view.

The Commandos had bivouacked somewhere just south of Paris on an unseasonably warm September evening, Steve and Bucky bedding down next to each other, close enough to keep an eye on the others but far enough away that their whispered conversations wouldn't be overheard. As Steve slept beneath the clear skies, the moon illuminating his features, at last relaxed in sleep, Bucky stared at him as if he might never see him again. Lord knew it was possible; they were at war, and not even Captain America was impervious to bullets or landmines or grenades. Instead of focusing on that, though, Bucky drank in the beauty of his lover, his warmth and the slow, even cadence of his strong chest rising and falling with breaths that no longer rattled or faltered and caused Steve pain or both of them panic.

Trembling, Bucky shifts just enough so Steve's palm cradles his cheek, the warmth radiating through his body from this point of contact disproportionate to Steve's actual body temperature. Aside from small, accidental touches and the few times Steve reached out for him during the early days of Bucky's treatment only to have Bucky recoil, they've hardly touched at all. Besides being loathe to give himself the opportunity to hurt Steve, Bucky only pulled away from Steve's early attempts to touch him because all of his senses seemed exaggerated after he woke from his last stint in cryo, though whether the sensory overload was due to the freezing process itself or because of HYDRA's programming finally and permanently being expunged, Bucky still doesn't know.

Whatever the reason, the overwhelming nature of any sensory input has lessened somewhat since then, fading to the low hum where it now remains and causing him to glean more pleasure from his senses, especially touch, than ever before in his life. Whether luckily or unluckily, Steve seems to have learned his lesson from those few early attempts, and Bucky hasn't initiated any sort of physical contact in fear of harming Steve in any way – not to mention in sheer terror of finding his love for Steve is no longer reciprocated – so the feeling of Steve's hand, slack with sleep, cupping his cheek is nearly as overwhelming as were the touches that frightened Steve away in the first place.

More than being overwhelming, however, Steve's touch brings Bucky a sense of comfort and belonging, neither of which he has felt to any significant degree since the night before he shipped out for Europe in 1942, when he returned home after twirling both of their dates around the dance floor a few times to spend the rest of the evening in the arms of his tiny lover, falling asleep with his ear pressed against Steve's slender chest, trying to memorize the sound of Steve's thready but soothing heartbeat.

With that memory replaying in his head, Bucky nestles his face into Steve's palm, letting his weighted eyelids slip closed.

**

When Bucky next opens his eyes, he squints against the brilliant sunlight streaming in through the uncovered windows, fumbling for the alarm clock, which reads nine forty-seven in the morning. It's the first time he's slept past seven since Brooklyn, and as he splays his limbs beneath the covers in a luxurious stretch, he wonders if it's because he's finally got Steve all to himself or because the cozy little house felt like home the minute they stepped through the door.

He decides it's definitely both.

Steve is already up, judging by the expanse of empty bed next to Bucky and by the sound of an axe whickering through wood outside the window. _Leave it to Steve to find the manliest chore he could think of,_ Bucky thinks, smiling lazily. _Still has something to prove._

The sunshine lays across the bed like an extra blanket, warming Bucky's skin where the golden light caresses him, but the subtle but steady rise in his body temperature has more to do with the mental image of Steve swinging that axe, biceps rippling and bulging by turns as he lops off chunks of wood sized just right for the wood stove in the living room. Bucky imagines beads of sweat forming along Steve's hairline, trickling down his temples, and dampening his already clingy shirt, molding it to every taut curve and cut of muscle…

Letting out a heavy breath, Bucky pauses for a second to identify the odd sensation zinging through his body like electricity, and when he places it, a sharper jolt of the same feeling hits him, drawing a soft moan from his smirking lips. He doesn't recall the last time he felt honest-to-God sexual arousal, but the feeling is instantly familiar, inextricably entwined with his devotion to Steve, and _oh_ , there it is; all at once, he remembers how to take care of the pleasant sense of pressure and heat building in his lower belly.

The sound of Steve chopping wood continues from outside, so Bucky slips his right hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants and wraps it around his half-hard cock, which swells further within the warm tunnel formed by his fingers. _Jesus Christ_ , he thinks, his eyes falling shut at the wave of pleasure that simple touch produces, squeezing himself lightly and reveling in the way his breathing quickens and his stomach tightens as a result. It's been so long since he had any kind of orgasm that he wonders idly if his body remembers how.

His dick is fully hard now, almost painfully so, and he begins stroking it, his hand loose and its motion slow to avoid shorting out his brain. Throwing his head back against the pillow, Bucky whimpers, biting his lips between his teeth as every nerve in his body ignites one by one. _Imagine it's Steve,_ his brain whispers, and he shudders, his whole body aflame, pausing to strip his long-sleeved shirt over his head and wriggle out of his pants before settling into the obscenely comfortable mattress. He takes himself in hand again, closing his eyes and picturing Steve lying next to him, staring into his eyes in that intent, intimate way Bucky had always melted for. He imagines – or, more accurately, _remembers_ – Steve wrapping his big hand around Bucky's cock and giving it an experimental stroke, drawing a low moan from Bucky's lips. Steve's hands have always been talented in more ways than one, and Bucky craves the feeling of those long fingers gripping his hot, rigid flesh, pumping him gently at first but harder and faster the closer Bucky gets.

Mimicking the motion Steve's hand makes behind his eyelids, Bucky pictures Steve kissing his way down Bucky's chest the way he did so many times in the past. Licking the tips of his metal thumb and forefinger, Bucky pinches and flicks his nipple, seeing instead Steve's plush, pretty mouth settling around it, his tongue teasing and toying with the little pink peak of flesh, watching Bucky's face contort with rapture from that vantage point. Humming with pleasure, Bucky slides his left hand down his quivering belly, imagining Steve moving in the same direction, pausing here and there to dust Bucky's skin with ethereal kisses. His breath quick and heavy, Bucky lets his legs splay beneath the covers, watching the Steve in his mind settle in between them; when Bucky's left hand slips further down to cup his balls, he pictures Steve laving them with his tongue and moans again, a desperate, breathy little sound.

He may have been able to hold off a little longer, but as soon as he pictures Steve drawing his tongue up the length of Bucky's dick and closing his lips around the tip, Bucky gasps, his writhing body stiffening and his toes curling into the sheets beneath him in the instant before all the pressure built up inside him explodes outward, swallowing his consciousness in a torrent of blinding white sparks.

When he is at last able to open his eyes, Bucky releases a shuddering sigh, twitching a finger to be sure he still has the ability to move. He is, however, a gooey mess, both contained and made worse by virtue of the sheets covering him. As sated and sleepy as he is, the second to last thing he wants is to get out of bed, but the very last is for Steve to find him in their shared bed, marinating in a puddle of his own semen. Reluctantly, Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and uses the corner of the sheet to wipe himself down as best he can, pulling his sleep clothes back on before stripping the sheets and remaking the bed.

With the wad of come-streaked sheets in his arms – wet spots carefully situated on the inside – Bucky makes his way to the bathroom and stuffs the bedding into the washing machine secreted away behind folding doors. Instead of turning it on immediately, he tests out the shower for the first time. It's nowhere near as luxurious as the one he used while staying in Wakanda, but it's nicer than he expected, with excellent water pressure and a fairly consistent temperature. The clawfoot tub is cool beneath his feet, slowly warming from the water's influence, and the way the light from the incandescent bulbs over the sink filters through the shower curtain is strangely mesmerizing.

When he gets out of the shower and dries off, Bucky's skin is clean and pink, all traces of this morning's recreational self-exercise washed away. He wipes the steam from the mirror over the sink with his hand and peers into it, finding his color high and his eyes surprisingly bright. He looks both healthier and happier than he has since coming out of cryo, and he wonders if, all this time, sex has been a biological need he didn't even know he had.

Mulling this over, Bucky starts the washing machine and tosses his pajamas into it along with the sheets, exiting the bathroom with his towel tied around his waist. As he lays out his clothing for the day – he doesn't have a lot to choose from, but all of it is comfortable in one way or another – it occurs to him that he no longer hears Steve chopping wood outside. He slips into a pair of black track pants and one of Steve's well worn t-shirts, which is snugger than Bucky normally wears but washed so many times the fabric all but melts between his fingers. He throws his favorite oversized thrift store cardigan over it, pulls on a pair of fuzzy, hot pink socks, and ties his hair back in a sloppy knot before wandering out to see if he can find Steve.

He doesn't have to go far. Just around the corner in the kitchen, Steve stands with his back to the room, his shoulders hunched, and his hands gripping the edge of the sink. The water is running and an empty glass sits nearby, but Steve is motionless.

Bucky cocks his head. "Steve?"

Steve twitches, startled, and nearly knocks over the glass, steadying it at the last second and holding it under the flowing tap, although he sets it aside without drinking from it. "Hey," he says as he turns off the water, and Bucky doesn't miss the lower timbre and thicker tone of his voice. He's heard it often enough to know what it means.

"Stevie," Bucky says, stepping closer, his arms crossed over his stomach. It's a very small kitchen, and he's only a couple of feet away now. "What's wrong?"

With a sniffle that's meant to be casual, Steve, without turning away from the sink, shakes his head. "Nothin', Buck. I'm good."

Bucky sighs. "Hey," he murmurs. "Look at me."

Hesitating for a moment, Steve finally squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and turns around, meeting Bucky's eyes for only a split second before dropping his damp, red-rimmed gaze to the floor. Just like seeing Steve cry always did to him, Bucky's heart shatters into a million pieces, and he reacts the same way he always did; without thinking about it, he opens his arms and pulls Steve into them. Steve gasps, and Bucky tries to jump back, but Steve's arms surround him, preventing his retreat.

"Don't," Steve whispers brokenly, " _please_."

Bucky remains still for a moment, unsure whose heartbeat he feels beating harder against his chest. "You don't mind if I touch you?" The words come out halting and barely audible, but it would be impossible for Steve to miss them with Bucky's lips nearly touching his ear.

And Steve obviously does hear them, because it's his turn to pull back, his arms locked around Bucky's waist, disbelief evident on his face. "What?"

"Well, I—"

"I've spent all this time not touching you because _you_ didn't want me to," Steve says, stricken. "What made you think it wasn't okay for you to touch _me_?"

"I'm a walking disaster!" Bucky exclaims, although his arms creep around Steve's shoulders again. "Bad luck on legs. I don't trust myself not to hurt you, even by accident."

"But you have _much_ better motor control with the new arm than you did with the old one, and you've gone through treatment and been cleared completely," Steve argues, and Bucky wonders if he notices that he's rocking himself and Bucky slowly back and forth. "Besides, if anyone can match your strength, it's me, and you damn well know it."

"Yeah, but—" Bucky trails off, realizing only now that he has no counterpoint. "I just thought… I don't want to push you if you don't _want_ to touch me."

"Right," Steve deadpans, "like there's ever been a time when I _haven't_ wanted to touch you, Buck. I only stayed at arm's length because I didn't want to make you feel obligated to be close to me if you didn't want to be."

Bucky huffs a near-silent laugh. "As if there's ever been anyone I wanted to be closer to."

"Well, we're a couple idiots, aren't we?" Steve shakes his head, smiling. "You'd think we'd have learned by now that we should just _talk_ about things."

"I don't know if we've learned _anything_ yet." Bucky moves closer, tightening his arms around Steve and resting his head on Steve's shoulder as a helpless little noise of relief bubbles up from his throat.

"You okay?" Steve asks, his voice suddenly husky.

Bucky nods, his eyes closed. "I don't remember if it always felt this good," he murmurs, letting his flesh hand slide up Steve's spine to rest on the back of his head. The shiver this generates wracks the entirety of Steve's large, solid body, and Bucky smiles secretively against the warm skin of Steve's neck. He smells like the vaguely citrusy shampoo they share combined with the pleasant tang of aftershave, and Bucky can feel Steve's pulse against his lips where they rest on Steve's skin.

"It did for me."

Pulling back to look at him, Bucky sways a little, and Steve steadies him with one arm around his waist and the other hand pressed against the middle of his back. "My head's spinning," Bucky says, blinking to clear his vision, drunk on the feeling of Steve's warmth and bulk pressing against him. "Can we sit?"

Steve nods, leaving one arm around Bucky's waist as he steers them both to the couch, where Bucky considers for about one nanosecond sitting on the worn green cushion but instead opts to climb sidesaddle into Steve's lap, letting Steve's embrace keep him mostly upright as he slumps enough to rest the side of his head on Steve's shoulder again. Once he has himself situated, Bucky relaxes, sighing with contentment. "I remember holding you like this a bunch," Bucky murmurs, trailing the fingertips of his right hand up and down Steve's arm, tracing the prominent vein on his bicep. "We were both a lot smaller then."

Steve laughs, jostling Bucky a little but tightening his embrace to compensate. "Yeah, we were."

They sit that way a while, not talking much, just enjoying each other's warmth, until an all too familiar sensation overtakes Bucky – an uncomfortable swelling feeling, as if someone has filled his chest cavity with expanding foam, his brain chattering the words _too much, too much_ at him – and he reluctantly slides off Steve's lap, his entire body nearly vibrating. "Can we go for a walk in the woods?"

"Yeah, sure," Steve replies. He stands, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and Bucky can hardly hold himself back from leaping back into Steve's arms and kissing him until neither of them could breathe. He refrains, however, but only barely, and only because he doesn't want his pent-up anxiety to tarnish the experience; when his lips finally touch Steve's for the first time this century, he wants both of them relaxed and ready for whatever emotions it's sure to stir up.

Instead of pinning Steve to the nearest available surface and ravishing him, Bucky leans in and whispers in his ear. "When we get back, I want you to teach me how to cook." Kissing Steve's smooth, flushed cheek, Bucky pulls away, smiling, and grabs his hoodie off the back of one of the dining chairs on his way to find his shoes.

**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting the spoon on the counter, Bucky cups Steve's jaw in both hands and stares intently into his widened eyes, searching for any hint of resistance. When he sees none, he lets his gaze flicker momentarily to Steve's mouth.

_Just yesterday_ , Bucky marvels to himself as he and Steve amble side by side across the lawn, admiring the watercolor sky as the sun flirts with the horizon, _I was afraid to touch Steve or let him touch me._

They mount the stairs to the porch together, but Bucky pauses at the door, turning back to Steve with a shy smile. "Next time we go for a walk, can I hold your hand?"

The expression that flits across Steve's face is indescribable, and it makes Bucky feel about ten feet tall. "Yeah, of course," Steve says, taking a half step forward before halting, uncertain. "You can touch me whenever you want, Buck."

His eyes are so earnest, Bucky has no choice but to believe him.

**

"Hey," Steve says, leaning with his hip against the counter, watching Bucky following his instructions to pour heavy cream into the pan. "I meant what I said before."

Stirring the cream into the vodka sauce with a wooden spoon, Bucky cocked his head without taking his eyes off the pan. "What, about Sam's speeding ticket in New Jersey?"

Steve laughs. "No, although that _was_ true. I mean, y'know, when we were on the porch."

As Bucky glances over, the corner of his lips twitch upward. "You're blushing," he says, still stirring. "You mean the part about touching you?"

"I—" Steve stops, swallows, and nods. "Yeah, but I'm trying to say this without sounding like a total pervert."

"Aw, but Pervert Steve is my _favorite_ Steve." Bucky quirks an eyebrow and turns back to the sauce. "Trying to say what?"

Steve releases a long, measured breath, and Bucky looks back at him, curious. "I did mean you can touch me whenever you want, but I also meant you can touch me _however_ you want."

Bucky snorts to mask the sudden arrhythmic fluttering of his heart. "You're giving _me_ that kind of free reign? And you think this is a good idea?"

"Yes," Steve replies, utterly serious. "I want you to get comfortable with it at your own pace, okay? And I won't touch _you_ without asking you first, until or _unless_ you're ready for it. I'm not going to rush you or pressure you or guilt-trip you or—"

"Steve," Bucky says, more than a little amused but far more moved. "Shut up and taste this."

Steve blinks at the wooden spoon in front of his face as Bucky blows gently on its contents while cupping his hand beneath it to catch any drips. "Oh," Steve says, deflating a little. "Yeah. Okay."

Stepping closer, Bucky brings the spoon to Steve's mouth, watching as he sips carefully at the thick, creamy vodka sauce. "Mmm." Steve nods. "That's incredible. Better than I've ever made it."

"Yeah?" Bucky breathes, hypnotized by the sight of Steve licking the flavor from his soft, full lips, and this close, he can't resist their pull any longer. Setting the spoon on the counter, he cups Steve's jaw in both hands and stares intently into his widened eyes, searching for any hint of resistance. When he sees none, he lets his gaze flicker momentarily to Steve's mouth. "Can I kiss you?" he murmurs, secretly delighted at the way Steve's pupils dilate immediately.

"Oh, God," Steve fairly groans, "yes, _please_."

Bucky leans in and presses his mouth to Steve's, his thumbs brushing Steve's jaw. The kiss is innocent at first, Steve clearly holding back and allowing Bucky to control it, and Bucky is glad for that, because he's not sure he possesses the wherewithal to intensify things just yet; he's wholly absorbed in the sensations and the memories Steve's kiss evokes. Steve's addictive scent surrounds him as the firm softness of his lips draws Bucky in, making him wonder how he's survived these past several weeks – how he survived all those _years_ – without this.

Steve's lips part when Bucky pulls back only long enough to tilt his head and press forward again, allowing his mouth to open just far enough for the two of them to share hot, panting breaths. Moving closer, Bucky feels Steve's warmth and sturdiness against his chest and – _oh_ – his pelvis, and if he were to slide his hand between them…

A low, thick bubbling sound reaches Bucky's ears, and his eyes snap open as he draws back in time to see Steve's do the same. "Shit," Steve croaks at the same time as Bucky exclaims, "The sauce!"

Still tasting Steve, Bucky whirls back to the stove to stir the sauce, hoping it hasn't burned to the bottom of the pan. Bucky watches Steve out of the corner of his eye, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist, as Steve drains the penne over the sink before dumping the steaming pasta into the pan of sauce so Bucky can stir it all together. "Steve," Bucky says as they're dishing up, and Steve pauses with a scoop of pasta suspended over one of their plates.

"Yeah?" It isn't Bucky's imagination; Steve's voice is colored with the same hopefulness as his expression. Bucky leans in and kisses him again, just a peck but laden with promise.

"More on this later."

**

When they've finished eating – giving each other long, meaningful glances over dinner, and if Steve minds Bucky's sock-clad toes resting on his under the table, he makes no mention of it – Steve loads the dishwasher while Bucky packs the leftovers into the fridge. "So," Steve says, feigning offhandedness just as poorly as he ever did as he leans against the counter with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, and Bucky chuckles, reaching for his hand.

"C'mere."

Leading Steve from the kitchen, Bucky turns to face him halfway across the living room, letting his fingertips slide from Steve's wrist to his shoulder, tracing the neck of his t-shirt and evoking a shiver. "I want to take you up on your offer."

Steve's eyes are glassy as he drags them upward to meet Bucky's. "Hmm?"

"I want to try." Bucky slides a hand around the back of Steve's neck, walking backward toward the bedroom and tugging Steve along with him. "I want to touch you."

Steve merely nods, the movement almost imperceptibly jerky, as he follows Bucky into the bedroom – _their_ bedroom – where Bucky turns on a bedside lamp before turning back to him. Silently, reverently, Bucky slides Steve's t-shirt upward, drinking in the sight of Steve's taut, thickly muscled torso as he reveals it inch by inch. Once the shirt has been tossed aside, they remain still, staring into each other's eyes without a trace of self-consciousness – _the way_ , Bucky thinks, _we used to._

"Will you lie down for me?" Bucky asks, and Steve nods again, stretching out in the middle of the bed in his pants and socks. His eyes follow Bucky, who pauses uncertainly before climbing onto the bed next to him, murmuring, "Let me know if you want me to stop, okay?"

"Buck," Steve says, his voice hoarse, "I _never_ want you to stop."

Bucky manages a small but genuine smile, his heart pounding as he leans over to nuzzle against Steve's throat, brushing his lips over the warm skin there before moving down to trace Steve's collarbones with the tip of his tongue. Beneath Bucky's hand, Steve's chest moves up and down with his slow, heavy breaths, his heartbeat vibrating against Bucky's palm, which Bucky replaces with his lips, leaning partway over Steve to kiss the spot over his heart.

Tucking his arm beneath his head, Steve watches Bucky's measured movements, and Bucky drops him a wink just to see him smile. He's not disappointed, and he presses his own smile into Steve's flesh, kissing and nibbling his way down the center of Steve's chest, reveling in the contrast between the silky skin and the granite hardness it covers. When he reaches Steve's stomach, he traces the muscle definition with his lips, pausing often to tattoo Steve's skin with kisses.

Steve sighs, tipping his head back against his arm, his free hand clutching the sheets. "Ahh… Bucky," he breathes, his stomach trembling beneath Bucky's mouth as it ghosts over the faint trail of hair leading downward from his bellybutton. Bucky loses his own breath in a warm gust against Steve's skin at the sound of his name falling from Steve's lips in a way that brings back a torrent of memories of all the times Steve had whispered or sighed or moaned or – on a couple of memorable occasions – screamed Bucky's name.

Which means whatever Bucky was doing at those times made Steve feel good.

Which means Bucky was good at whatever he did to draw those sounds out of Steve.

But Bucky was a different person then, with very different skills.

_What if I'm no good at it anymore? What if I disappoint Steve? What if I'm not good enough for him? What if I lose him?_

With a gasp, Bucky rears back, scrambling to the end of the bed, where he doubles over with his head between his knees, unable to catch his breath, his heart threatening to thump its way out of his chest. "Buck?" Steve asks, somehow kneeling at Bucky's feet already, although Bucky's head is swimming too wildly for him to lift it and his hair hangs in his face. He knows he's going to lose Steve, _knows it_ with every fiber of his being, and the thought is too much to bear, _too much, too much, too much—_

"Tell me what I can do," Steve says, his voice remarkably calm.

He's still there.

Bucky reaches for him, clutching Steve's bicep with one hand, although he still can't raise his head for fear of passing out. "Don't – don't l-leave me—"

"I'm not leaving you," Steve says. "I'm _never_ leaving you. Whatever you're thinking, it's not true. We're gonna get you through this."

With a whimper, Bucky slumps forward, but Steve is there to catch him before he hits the floor. "You're okay," Steve murmurs, wrapping Bucky in a gentle embrace and rocking him in his lap. "You're doing real good, Buck. It's all right. I got ya. Shh…"

Eventually, Bucky's panic subsides, taking with it his tremors and racing heartbeat and sapping the remainder of his energy, and he collapses against Steve, weeping, listless sobs wracking his shoulders. "Please," Bucky snivels, "I promise, I'll do better, I'll try harder—"

"Shh." Steve strokes Bucky's hair back from his sweaty, tear-streaked face. "Hey. Look at me." Bucky complies, raising wet gray eyes to meet placid blue ones. "Buck, it's okay," Steve murmurs, and with the way he looks at him, Bucky can almost believe it. "We don't need to rush it. We can try again when you're ready, and if you're never ready, that's okay, too."

"Yeah," Bucky scoffs, his cynicism half-hearted, but Steve only looks back at him, his expression unchanging.

"I mean it. I'd be celibate the rest of my life if that was the only way I could spend it with you. I don't ever want to live another day without you." Steve presses his face into Bucky's hair, his breath warm against Bucky's scalp. "I only want what you can give me," he mumbles. "I'd never ask for more than that."

"Stevie," Bucky chokes, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck, "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," Steve murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, and they stay that way for a while, listening to each other breathe. When Bucky begins nodding off against his shoulder, Steve helps him up from the floor and into bed, sliding in next to him; Bucky rolls onto his side facing Steve, his chest pressed tightly against Steve's arm, and they fall asleep holding hands.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what do you know? I'm on [Tumblr](http://venusdoom3.tumblr.com)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mmm, God, Stevie," Bucky sighs, his eyes rolling back. "That feels so fucking good."
> 
> "Yeah? You want me to go harder?"
> 
> "Maybe a little."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This monster has totally run away with me. I didn't expect it to turn into a multi-chapter slow burn!

** Chapter 4 **

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Bucky yawns in response as he slumps against the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but yesterday's sweatpants. It's late in the morning, but he's only been awake long enough to make a stop in the bathroom, comb his hair, and brush his teeth. He might not have bothered with the last if not for the half-dreamed notion of kissing Steve again.

"Did you sleep okay?" Steve glances over his shoulder, continuing to stir the massive batch of eggs he's scrambling. The smell of bread toasting makes Bucky's mouth water, or maybe it's the sight of Steve in a tank top and his sleep pants, which are made of a thin, stretchy gray material that hugs the curve of his delectable, infinitely grabbable ass just beautifully.

No contest: it's definitely Steve.

"Better than I have in a long time," Bucky confesses, crossing the few feet of space between them and surprising a little grunt out of Steve by wrapping his arms around Steve's waist, pressing himself against Steve's front. "I’ve missed sleeping next to you," he murmurs, tickling Steve's cheek with the tip of his nose before teasing Steve's earlobe with the tip of his tongue.

Steve huffs out a quick breath, surrounding Bucky with his free arm. "Mmm, hold on." He removes the pan from the heat, switches off the burner, and turns his full attention to Bucky. "Me too," he says, his lips twitching at the corners.

Bucky can't resist leaning in to kiss Steve's secretive little smile, and when Steve sighs, his embrace tightening, Bucky licks at Steve's lips almost without thinking. Steve moans into Bucky's mouth, a sound that turns to music between Bucky's ears and his brain, and Bucky slides his fingertips just beneath the elastic holding Steve's pants just above his hipbones, squeezing the upper arc of Steve's ass. The perfect, muscular curve fits just right in Bucky's hands, giving him just the leverage to pull Steve's hips even tighter against him.

Drawing a quick breath in between his teeth, Bucky pulls back to meet Steve's hooded gaze. "I haven't felt this in way too long," he purrs, grinding subtly against Steve's swelling cock, and Steve's mouth falls open, his long, dark eyelashes fluttering prettily. Just the thought of Steve getting hard for him has Bucky headed in the same direction.

Unsure where this is going but very interested in finding out, Bucky is a split second away from attacking Steve's mouth again when one of their untraceable cell phones rings in the living room, startling them both. "Shit!" Bucky hisses. "Is it ten thirty?"

Steve glances at the digital display on the stove and groans in displeasure. "Ugh. Yes. Your weekly Skype session with N'geli?"

"Yeah." Pouting, Bucky removes his hands from the back of Steve's pants with the utmost reluctance and hurries to answer.

After the forty-five minute call, which Bucky takes in the bedroom with the door closed, he emerges to find Steve sitting at the dining room table with a cup of coffee, scrolling through CNN on their tablet. "How'd it go?" he asks, rising to get their plates out of the oven, where he had kept breakfast warm for the entire time. 

“It was good,” Bucky said, accepting one of the plates and kissing Steve’s cheek in thanks before they take their seats across the table from one another. “She said I look happy.”

“You do.” Steve smiles at him, and Bucky is struck by the unaffected beauty of the man across the table. The sunlight pouring in through the bay window makes Steve's golden hair glow from within, and his blue eyes sparkle with life. 

“So do you, y’know?” Bucky tilts his head, drinking him in. “Happier than I've seen you look since… I don't know. Maybe ever.”

Steve chuckles, clearly embarrassed by the attention. “Well, we might be fugitives and totally cut off from the rest of the world, but I can't say everything about this century is all that bad. I have you; that's all I need.”

“Goddammit, Rogers.” Bucky shakes his head in mock disgust, but he knows his delight at Steve's words leaks right through. “If you're this sappy in November, I shudder to think what you'll be like on Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, I'll spoil you rotten. Expect champagne and strawberries, rose petals all over the bed–”

“Promises, promises.” Bucky taps Steve's shin under the table with his foot. “Thanks for breakfast, sugar.”

Steve's expression breaks open for a microsecond, revealing a rawness beneath that Bucky is sure Steve himself doesn't know is there, although he recovers immediately. “Wow,” he mumbles. “It's been a long time since you called me that.”

"I know." Bucky laces their fingers together on the table. "It's been a long time since a lot of things."

**

"Mmm, God, Stevie," Bucky sighs, his eyes rolling back. "That feels so fucking good."

"Yeah? You want me to go harder?"

"Maybe a little."

Steve obliges by increasing the pressure of his fingertips against Bucky's scalp, and Bucky moans from his position draped over Steve's lap, the TV forgotten in front of them. Neither had been paying much attention to it, anyway; if they hadn't seen the seemingly endless procession of daytime court programs for themselves, they never would've believed it.

"I love your hair like this," Steve says, combing his fingers through the long, dark strands. "Maybe I can brush it for you sometime."

"Mm-hmm. That'd be nice. Hey!" Bucky sits up, leaving Steve wide-eyed at the abrupt departure of Bucky's head from his lap.

"Hey what?"

"I still haven't tried out the bathtub!"

Steve laughs. "Scandalous!"

"Damn right." Bucky plants another kiss on Steve's cheek. "Please tell me we have bubbles."

"What kind of man do you think I am?" Steve scoffs. "Of course we do. They're under the sink."

"Atta boy!" Bucky calls over his shoulder as he trots into the bathroom to fill the tub and undress. As the water rises, Bucky kneels naked beside the tub and trails his fingers through the thick foam wrought by the bubble bath he dumped in at the outset. The bubbles are fragrant, reminding him of the violet perfume his mother wore when he was a boy, and he retreats so deeply into his memories that he's startled by the high level of the water when he comes back to himself.

Sinking into the water, Bucky lets out a sigh of bliss as its warmth and sweet scent envelops him, mounds of bubbles closing in to cover the transparent surface of the water where his entry had broken it. After a moment, he cracks open one eye and calls out, "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you still on the couch?"

"Yeah, why?"

"'Why' is right!" Bucky exclaims. "Are you gonna get your ass in here or what?"

After a beat of silence, Steve pushes the bathroom door open a crack. "You, uh… you need something?"

Bucky ignores the rapid thudding of his own heart. "Yeah, dummy. I need you in this tub with me like five minutes ago. Get in here."

More silence follows, and then Steve appears in the doorway, visibly trembling. "Are you sure?"

Holding out one dripping arm, Bucky makes a grabby gesture at him, and Steve grins, shaking his head at the floor. "All right," he says, "but if it gets to be too much, tell me, and I'll hop out, okay?"

"That'd be something to see." Bucky leers, then grows serious, licking his lips. "Can I watch you get undressed?"

A red flush colors Steve's face and trails down his neck. "Uh. Yeah. Of course, if you want to."

"Hell yeah, I want to." Bucky rests his forearms on the edge of the tub and his chin on them in turn. Even more than looking, he wants to touch, or at least try again, but he doesn't mention that to Steve in case Bucky's traitorous brain acts up again just when things get interesting.

"You're killing me." Blushing redder than ever, Steve unbuttons his shirt and hangs it from a towel hook, his nervous eyes flitting to Bucky's rapt face when he turns back toward the tub.

"Never heard you complain about me wanting to see you naked before," Bucky scoffs, but Steve sees right through him, smiling a little as he pops the button on his jeans.

"I'm not complaining now," he says, dragging open his zipper, and it's Bucky's turn to redden, hoping the heat of the water will camouflage his increase in temperature. "It's just been a while, that's all. I hope you're not disappointed."

"You've never disappointed me." Bucky blinks up at Steve. "Not when you were ninety pounds of piss an' vinegar and not after they gave you a body to match your attitude, either."

Steve chuckles and drops his pants, hesitating for the briefest of moments before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs and skinning them off, as well. His mouth falling open, Bucky drinks in the vision of virile, masculine muscle wrapped in smooth, pale skin standing before him, trying his best not to look embarrassed as Bucky's eyes take him in from head to toe.

And oh, _fuck_ , is Steve gorgeous. Bucky knew as much already from his memories of before as well as from spending time with a mostly fully-clothed Steve as of late, but seeing him – incontrovertibly the love of Bucky's life – standing bare and brazen before him fills in every last blank that remained. Naked, the variation between Steve's wide shoulders and slim waist is even starker, and Bucky's fingers itch to touch Steve's chiseled stomach and luscious pecs again. Those were always a focal point; he remembers spending long minutes worshipping Steve's chest with his hands and his mouth. As has always been the case, only a fine dusting of blond hair graces Steve's chest and trails down the center of his abdomen, neatly trimmed where it adorns his thick, heavy cock, which is already beginning to stiffen under Bucky's reverent gaze. His thighs are powerfully muscled, his calves strong, his ankles slim and as knobby as they ever were, and his feet proportionate but still surprisingly pretty.

God, he's missed this.

Meeting Steve's eyes, Bucky finds him still blushing but staring back at him with an almost unbearably adoring expression on his beautiful, familiar face. "Seen enough yet?" he teases, and Bucky shakes his head vehemently.

"Never. How 'bout you get in here so I can see you close up?"

**

There's plenty of room for both of them in the clawfoot tub. With his legs stretched out on either side of Bucky, Steve sits up a little straighter, while Bucky slouches – quite happily – at the other end of the bathtub with his ankles resting loosely at Steve's hips. The air is steamy, the atmosphere almost as much so as each watches the other watching him; their conversation is light but riddled with innuendo, and Bucky is surprised to find himself much more relaxed than he worried he might be in such inescapable proximity to Steve.

"Next time we're going all out – a bottle of wine, some candles, a little jazz in the background," Bucky says, sending Steve a lazy smile across the mountain of bubbles barely separating them. He lifts one foot from the water and plants it lightly in the center of Steve's chest, thrilling at the way Steve's eyes follow an inexorable path all the way up Bucky's leg to where it disappears under the foamy water.

"Can I touch?" Steve gestures at Bucky's foot, waiting for Bucky to nod in assent before taking Bucky's foot in both hands and rubbing lightly at the bottom with both thumbs.

Bucky hums in satisfaction, letting his eyes slip closed and his head loll against the rim of the tub while Steve massages first one foot and then the other the way a much smaller version of him used to do when Bucky got home from an extra long day at the docks. "Fuck, Stevie, that feels amazing."

With a soft chuckle, Steve bends down to press a kiss to the tip of Bucky's big toe. "I have to say, it feels pretty damn good to me, too. I love touching you. I've missed it."

"Mmm." Bucky sits up, staring into Steve's eyes with laser focus. "There's nobody else I'd trust enough to be this close to."

"There's nobody else I'd trust enough to get this close to you," Steve counters with a crooked grin.

"Then how about I get closer?" Bucky turns and inserts his body between Steve's legs, leaning with his back against Steve's chest and biting his lip at the resulting hitch in Steve's breath. "How's this?"

"So good," Steve rumbles, "but can I…?

Bucky reaches back without a word to pull Steve's arms around himself. "Stevie," he breathes, turning his head as far as he can, "kiss me. Please?"

"Yeah," Steve nearly whimpers, his body vibrating despite the heat of the bath, and leans forward to meet Bucky's lips. By the time the first kiss ebbs, the water is almost cold.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMU on [Tumblr!](http://venusdoom3.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve steers Bucky toward the bed, settling his big, warm hands on Bucky's shoulders and pushing lightly until Bucky sits on the edge of the mattress. "Do you trust yourself now?"
> 
> "I trust _you_." Bucky smiles up the length of Steve's torso before leaning in and kissing the spot just above Steve's bellybutton. "I know you'll take good care of me. You always have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken me an eon to update. Real life. Goddammit. 
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://venusdoom3.tumblr.com) if you wanna!

"We don't have to do anything if you're not ready."

Bucky levels a glare at Steve, tugging harder on his hand, and all but drags him into the bedroom. Short of reaching the bed, he turns back and draws the big lug in for another long, deep kiss, savoring the taste of Steve's mouth and the warmth his skin radiates. "How's that for not ready?"

The best answer Steve seems capable of is a desperate, clipped groan as his hands skim up Bucky's back to nest in his wet hair. "Buck," he says, pulling back just enough to meet Bucky's eyes. "Can I try something?"

"You better try something," Bucky says with a smirk. "We're not here to play chess."

Steve gives a breathless chuckle, shaking his head. "I just thought – maybe if I do something that makes you feel really good, it'll help you be more comfortable…? I dunno; I'm no shrink or anything, I just—"

"Stevie." Bucky nips at the tendon between Steve's neck and his shoulder, earning a shaky groan. "Yes. I'll try anything. I just wanna be close to you. I want you so bad."

Pressing their foreheads together, Steve closes his eyes, his arms tightening around Bucky. "I've waited so long to hear you say that."

"I've always wanted you," Bucky murmurs, kissing the shell of Steve's ear. "And I've wanted you since I opened my eyes in that hospital bed, too. I just didn't trust myself."

Steve steers Bucky toward the bed, settling his big, warm hands on Bucky's shoulders and pushing lightly until Bucky sits on the edge of the mattress. "Do you trust yourself now?"

"I trust _you_." Bucky smiles up the length of Steve's torso before leaning in and kissing the spot just above Steve's bellybutton. "I know you'll take good care of me. You always have."

"I always will." Steve grunts when Bucky palms the bulge distending Steve's towel, tracing his fingertips over the outline of Steve's cock. Sliding to his knees between Bucky's feet, Steve cranes his neck for a kiss before his fingers find the edge where Bucky's towel is tucked into itself, and he looks up, a silent plea for permission. Bucky nods, his heart hammering inside his ribcage, and Steve licks his lips and pulls open the towel. A little whimper escapes Steve as he shuffles closer on his knees to nuzzle against Bucky's chest; Bucky leans back with his palms braced on the bed as Steve kisses a downward path over Bucky's sternum, pausing when the tip of Bucky's swollen dick bumps the underside of his jaw. "Okay?" Steve whispers as he wraps his fingers around the rigid shaft, and Bucky nods, breathless and unable to verbalize his vehement approval when he sees where Steve is headed.

With his eyes trained on Bucky's face, Steve brushes the head of Bucky's cock over his parted lips, reaching out with the tip of his tongue to lap away a bead of pre-come and letting his eyes slip closed. "God, I missed this," he sighs, but before Bucky can string together a response or muster the ability to speak at all, Steve closes his lips around Bucky's girth and lets the wet heat of his mouth descend, engulfing the sensitive, long-neglected flesh.

"Oh – _fuck_ ," Bucky coughs out, giving a full body jolt, and Steve casts his eyes upward again as if to gauge the way Bucky intended the expletive; in truth, Bucky hardly realizes he's spoken at all in the face of the overwhelming, memory-heavy pleasure the heat of Steve's mouth wrings from him. "Oh, Stevie – Jesus Christ—"

Steve hums, his eyes glittering, and sets a leisurely rhythm, bobbing his head to take Bucky as deep as he can without choking. It's all Bucky can do to remain upright when his body desperately wants to dissolve into the mattress, but with an incentive like the sight of Steve's face while he sucks Bucky's dick, he manages admirably.

" _God_ , sugar, you're amazing," Bucky moans, enthralled by the lewdly gorgeous stretch of Steve's glossy, reddened lips around Bucky's thickness. "Oh my God, baby, _fuck_ – this isn't gonna take long. If I knew how much I missed that sweet mouth –  _ohh, shit_ –we'da been doing this weeks ago."

Steve huffs a silent laugh through his nose and increases the pace and the pressure. Trembling, Bucky stares down at him in awe, letting his mouth fall open to allow his gasps and sighs passage, his legs splayed wide; he's never felt more naked, exposed, but utterly safe, trusting without a second thought his security with Steve, both physical and emotional. Any remaining reservations about touching or being touched melt away at the care with which Steve treats him, the heat of Steve's mouth encasing him, and the weight and gentleness of Steve's hands resting on the thick, tense muscles of Bucky's thighs. When Steve raises one hand to stroke Bucky's throbbing balls with his fingertips, Bucky throws his head back and howls, coming hard into Steve's willing mouth. His orgasm seems endless, bolts of exquisite pleasure shooting through him until his body is overcome with it, and he slumps forward as Steve rises to his knees just in time to catch him.

With a feeble moan, Bucky rests his head on Steve's shoulder, his arms wrapped loosely around Steve's quivering body. "You okay?" Steve whispers, kissing the side of Bucky's head, and Bucky nods, floppy and uncoordinated but absolutely positive.

Regaining control of his ungainly extremities, Bucky lifts his head and blinks until his vision clears, meeting Steve's concerned gaze. "I'm _fine_ ," Bucky says with a weak smile that widens when he becomes aware of Steve's erection pressing insistently against Bucky's inner thigh. "You, on the other hand, you need a little attention, don't you, baby?"

He doesn't wait for Steve to respond; instead, he stands, guiding Steve to his feet, and takes his hand to drag him to the head of the bed. Bucky arranges his pillow just so and sits with his back against the headboard, patting the empty space on the bed between his legs. "C'mere, sugar," he purrs, a little surprised at how smoothly it comes out and how sensual it sounds... like the old Bucky. "Let me take care of you."

Steve crawls into the V of his legs and leans back against his chest, tipping his head back to rest it on Bucky's shoulder, breathing fast and hard. A flash of memory comes to Bucky: when Steve gets like this – too far gone to speak – drawing things out amounts to cruel and unusual punishment, and God knows they've both had enough of that to last them each an extended lifetime. Snaking both arms beneath Steve's, Bucky crosses Steve's broad chest with his vibranium arm – hyper-mindful of being gentle – and grips Steve's dick with the other.

"This all for me, baby doll?" Bucky mouths, wet and sloppy, at the side of Steve's neck, sucking lightly just to raise red marks that will fade before they even leave the bed. Steve moans, his hips giving a little jerk as Bucky strokes his straining cock from base to tip. "Fuck, you're sexy, you know that?"

Panting, Steve clutches Bucky's legs with both hands, and Bucky growls against his neck, surprised to find his own cock twitching again with interest. Then again, maybe he shouldn't be surprised; he never could get enough of Steve.

"Bucky," Steve moans, the muscles in his stomach and thighs tensing and relaxing by turns, "I'm real close."

"Good," Bucky murmurs, nibbling at Steve's earlobe, his own heart racing. The feeling of power coursing through him is indescribable, wrought by the knowledge that he – little ol' fucked up, mentally damaged Bucky Barnes – is responsible for giving Steve such bliss. "I wanna make you feel as good as you made me feel. That's it, baby… I gotcha… come for me, sweetheart."

With a cry that curls Bucky's toes, Steve does, painting thick, white ribbons up his stomach and chest and over Bucky's metal arm. Bucky strokes him through it until Steve is a boneless, twitching, whimpering wreck in his arms and then simply holds him tight, pressing soft, indulgent kisses to Steve's shoulder and neck.

"God, I love you," Bucky whispers, reveling in the warmth of Steve's skin against his and the weight of Steve's body against him. "Stevie, I love you so fucking much."

"Mmm," Steve replies, his eyes rolling when he tries to open them. "Love you more."

"Very fucking unlikely."

"Uh-uh. S'true. I swear."

"I'll fight you," Bucky threatens.

"Like to see you try it," Steve mumbles, smiling, his eyes still closed. "Just not yet. I'm not ready to move. Cuddle me first."

**

"So," Bucky says as they sit on the porch steps in their hoodies, watching the sun set with their hands entwined between them. 

"So." Steve looks, without question, more relaxed and content than Bucky has ever seen him. _Ever_.

Bucky stares at him, completely unselfconscious when Steve catches him doing so. "Hey," Bucky says with a soft smirk, and Steve laughs and throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

"Hey yourself. You feeling okay?"

"Better than okay." Bucky snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Steve's middle. "Thank you."

Steve strokes Bucky's hair back, tucking it behind his ear. "For what?"

Bucky pauses, unsure how to express everything he's thinking and feeling, coming up short of words and resting his head against Steve's shoulder instead. "Everything."

"You _are_ my everything." Steve kisses the top of Bucky's head, his lips warm and lingering. "This is all I ever wanted, Buck. Just you and me. And now I have you all to myself."

"Have I mentioned lately what a damn sap you are?" Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, his smile irrepressible.

"Yeah, you might've mentioned it."

"Well, you are. Always have been." Bucky's arms tighten around Steve. "It's one of the things I always loved about you, punk."

"Good, 'cause it's not changing," Steve chuckles.

"Good, 'cause I don't want it to."

"Good."

"Good," Bucky snarks, then softens, melting into Steve's side. "Have I also told you lately how fucking sexy you are?"

Steve hums. "I dunno. Maybe. Wouldn't hurt to remind me."

"You," Bucky mutters, sliding his palm across Steve's chest over his sweatshirt, "drive me completely out of my mind. Just try an' get me to _stop_ touching you now."

"Why the hell would I wanna do _that_?"

"I dunno. Let's never find out." Bucky turns his head to find Steve's gorgeous mouth _right there_ and takes advantage of his newly rediscovered passion for exploring every inch of Steve's mouth with his tongue.

Once the sun sets, leaving a chilly autumn dusk in its wake, they manage to peel themselves apart just long enough to stumble inside the house, tickling and pawing at each other, insatiable for contact the way they were as new lovers many decades ago. In the middle of the living room, they crash together in a sizzling hot kiss, Steve's hands buried in Bucky's hair, Bucky's kneading Steve's ass firmly and with undeniable intent. "Jesus," Bucky gasps when he releases Steve's lips with the deliciously arousing sound of wet suction.

"I know," Steve replies on a rush of breath, and then he seals his mouth over Bucky's again. Bucky drags him close, allowing one of Steve's thighs to settle between his so he can start a pointedly slow, filthy grind against the solid muscle.

"Steve," Bucky moans when Steve begins grinding right back; they're both rock hard again beneath their pants, and Bucky wants more than anything to rub against Steve this way but without clothes on. Desperate for his touch, for his warmth and the various textures of his body and the comfort he radiates, Bucky shoves both Steve's sweatshirt and the t-shirt beneath upward, where it wedges beneath his arms. As Steve struggles to pull the wad of shirts over his head, Bucky ducks his head to worship Steve's chest with his mouth and hands, kneading the firm flesh of his pecs while Steve continues wrestling with his shirt. He still hasn't freed himself when Bucky falls to his knees and mouths at the rigid line of Steve's cock beneath his track pants.

"Can I?" Bucky murmurs, replacing his mouth with his hand, tracing the outline of Steve's cock while the fingers of his metal hand slip just beneath the elastic waistband of Steve's pants.

Finally ridding himself of his shirts and tossing them aside, Steve gasps a little at the cold vibranium touching his skin, but his hips jut forward regardless, seeking contact. "Yeah," he pants, "but how about we take this into the shower? If it's okay with you, I mean. If you want—"

Rising to his feet, Bucky walks backward toward the bathroom, tugging Steve along by his waistband. "What I want is every part of you touching every part of me. How's that sound?"

Steve gives a pretty little shudder. "I'll touch anything you want me to touch."

"My turn first." Bucky backs Steve against the wall inside the bathroom and slides to the floor on his knees again, this time pulling Steve's pants down to mid-thigh, moaning softly at the sight of Steve's flushed cock springing free to slap his belly, leaving a damp smear on his pale skin. Bucky draws his tongue up the length of Steve's cock and laps at the tip, and Steve huffs out a sound of approval; his fists are balled up at his sides, but Bucky takes Steve's wrist and coaxes him to snarl his fingers in Bucky's hair. When Steve complies, Bucky hums, wrapping his hand around the base of Steve's cock and sucking gently on the head, closing his eyes in rapture as the sweet flavors of Steve's pre-come and skin electrify his taste buds. Groaning around his mouthful, Bucky slides more of Steve's stiff length into his mouth, inch by inch, until he triggers his gag reflex and has to stop, sliding off slow and wet. "Baby, you taste so _good_ ," Bucky rasps, and Steve gives a gentle tug to his hair, prompting him to look up.

"There are so... _so_ many things I want to do to you right now," Steve says in a trembling, breathless voice, "but let's get clean first."

Bucky holds Steve's cock steady with one hand while kissing and licking his way up the sensitive underside. "What's the point?"

"So we can get dirty again."

Bucky's smile widens, syrupy slow, as he rises and presses himself against Steve again. "Forgot how much I love your filthy mind, sugar."

With a whimper, Steve slides a hand around the back of Bucky's neck and crushes their lips together.

**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's voice takes on a weak, breathless quality, which – Bucky is delighted to remember – means he's so turned on his knees may buckle at any moment. That he can still have such an effect on Steve after all the years that separated them – and all the transgressions Bucky committed during that time, some particularly egregious ones against Steve himself – fills Bucky with both awe and a sense of hope, a fragile faith in the idea that their long-ago promises of "forever" and "always" and "till the end of the line" may still be viable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys might need a dentist after reading this... cotton candy-level fluff warning! But don't worry; I mitigated it with so, so, SO much smut, you don't even know.

** Chapter 6 **

Once in the shower, it's all wet, messy kisses and groping, desperate hands and overheated skin against skin. They manage a perfunctory washing, mainly to cleanse themselves of the sticky residue of the bodily fluids they shared earlier, but they are soon distracted with more of the same grinding and grasping. Every touch feels new and deliriously good, every kiss savored between two eager mouths as they slip and slide and pant against one another.

"Ungh, _fuck_ ," Bucky grunts as Steve's mouth latches onto the side of his neck, the softness of his lips contrasting deliciously with the scrape of his front teeth. "I just wanna crawl inside you and live there."

Steve hums, sliding upward to kiss Bucky's earlobe. "If you wanna be inside me, babe, I know a good place to start."

Bucky's heart gives a vehement thud inside his chest, and he bites his lip, sliding both hands down Steve's back to grip his magnificent ass. "Oh, yeah?"

"You're getting warmer." Steve's voice takes on a weak, breathless quality, which – Bucky is delighted to remember – means he's so turned on his knees may buckle at any moment. That he can still have such an effect on Steve after all the years that separated them – and all the transgressions Bucky committed during that time, some particularly egregious ones against Steve himself – fills Bucky with both awe and a sense of hope, a fragile faith in the idea that their long-ago promises of "forever" and "always" and "till the end of the line" may still be viable.

He can't think of anything he wants more than that.

Leaning in for another taste of Steve's addictive lips, Bucky smiles into Steve's quavering sigh when Bucky's flesh hand moves to the center of Steve's lower back and glides downward, one finger delving just between the taut globes of firm flesh to seek out his quivering entrance. Steve gasps, the grip of his arms around Bucky's shoulders tightening, and whispers into Bucky's mouth, "Yeah... right there."

"Steve," Bucky murmurs, reverence filling his voice, as he teases Steve's hole with his fingertip, pressing and circling but not yet entering. He remembers enough to know it takes some care and coaxing to prepare Steve for what they both clearly want to happen, and behaving like a bull in a china shop isn't the way to go about it. "Do you want me?"

Steve moans, his voice muffled against Bucky's shoulder, and pulls back to look Bucky straight in the eyes when he replies, "I've always wanted you, sweetheart. You know that."

"Still?" Bucky asks, sounding much more vulnerable than he means to.

Steve turns off the water and wraps his arms around Bucky again. "More now than I ever did."

**

Still dripping, they fall onto the bed in a pile of limbs and wet skin and need. "Buck," Steve murmurs as they lay facing each other, legs entwined, hands roaming, and Bucky lifts his head from where he was sucking a pronounced red mark onto Steve's collarbone.  The light from outside the room is bright enough to illuminate Steve's statuesque features, and Bucky meets his eyes, immediately lost in his solemn gaze.

"Mmm?"

"I want to make you feel good."

Bucky gives him an indulgent smile. "You are, baby."

"I mean _more_ ," Steve insists, raising himself on his elbow. "Is there anywhere you're not comfortable with me touching you?"

"Fuck no," Bucky says, his body flooding with anticipatory heat, one hand clutching Steve's rock hard bicep. "I want you everywhere."

Steve's resultant sigh of relief is tailed immediately by a low whine, and he rearranges himself so he hovers over Bucky on all fours. "Okay?" he asks, the quaver in his voice revealing his trepidation, and Bucky reaches up to stroke Steve's cheek.

"Stevie, I trust you," Bucky whispers. " _Please_ touch me. I need you."

The crinkle between Steve's eyebrows melts away, and he pauses to graze Bucky's lips with his own before he turns his attention to Bucky's neck. Bucky's breath catches when Steve's warm lips caress his throat, kissing slowly toward Bucky's shoulder, his eyes flicking up to Bucky's face as he presses wet, gentle kisses along the seam of scar tissue where Bucky's metal arm attaches to his body. "You're so beautiful," Steve mumbles against the gnarled flesh, letting the tip of his tongue play over it, and Bucky lets out a dry sob, his right hand coming up to rest in Steve's hair.

When Steve finishes exploring the lengthy scar, he moves on to Bucky's chest, rubbing his cheek against the sparse patch of soft, dark chest hair before settling in to tease and torture one nipple. Bucky arches into the sensation, crying out helplessly, and Steve chuckles a little, pulling back to flick his tongue over the hardened nub before surrounding it with his lips and sucking harder. "Oh, Jesus _fuck_ ," Bucky gasps, his already painfully stiff cock throbbing against his lower belly, and he plants a foot flat on the bed to give himself more leverage to push up into Steve's touch.

"You always loved this." Steve moves to the other nipple and lapping softly at it, the sharp, pleasurable sensation traveling straight to Bucky's dick. "I made you come once just doing this."

"If you keep it up, you're gonna do it again." Bucky gives a violent twitch when Steve mouths at the nipple, teasing it into a taut peak. "Ungh, _baby_ , oh _shit_ , that feels _too_ good—"

As suddenly as it began, the delicious assault on his chest ceases, and Bucky tosses his head back against the pillows, groaning in anticipation, as Steve kisses his way down Bucky's stomach, wrapping his hand around Bucky's pulsating dick and moving it aside so he can tug with his teeth at the trail of dark hair leading south from Bucky's bellybutton. The gentle, almost chaste kisses stop at the base of Bucky's cock as Steve mouths his way, wet and messy and fucking _perfect_ , up its length; when he reaches the tip, Steve envelops the sensitive head in the wicked heat of his mouth, sucking lightly as he stares up Bucky's torso for approval.

"Fuuuck," Bucky concedes, and Steve gives a sexy little growl as his full lips slide further down Bucky's shaft. Bucky buries both hands in Steve's damp blond hair, sobbing in pleasure, lost in the feeling of Steve's warm, wet lips and talented tongue working their way down his cock. "Stevie, _Stevie_ , if you don't stop, I'm gonna—"

"Uh-uh." Steve pulls off so abruptly Bucky is left wide-eyed, gaping like a fish. "Not yet. I want to do something else first. Okay?"

"Do anything you want," Bucky gasps. "God, I love you."

Biting his lower lip, Steve smiles up at him as he leans down again to cup Bucky's balls in one hand, letting his tongue play over the crinkled flesh, pausing momentarily to suck each one into his mouth in turn. Bucky watches, still open-mouthed and breathing heavily, as Steve nudges Bucky's thighs apart and lies between them. "I love you, too. Are you sure you're all right with _everywhere_?"

Bucky nods, breathless, and Steve nods in return, blue eyes hooded with lust. He hooks his hands behind Bucky's knees and pushes his legs up and apart, kissing the inside of one muscular thigh and then the other. "I love the sounds you used to make when I did this," he murmurs, and before Bucky can ask the question that's on the tip of his tongue – " _Did what_?" – Steve ducks his head and strokes the flat of his tongue over Bucky's hole, and the only sound Bucky is capable of making is a squeak of surprise.

"Okay?" Steve asks again, replacing his tongue with the pad of his thumb for the time being, lightly massaging the tight ring of muscle as he fixes his intent gaze on Bucky.

Bucky makes a noise that's somewhere between a moan and a laugh. " _Fuck_ , yeah, it's okay. I forgot how much I love when you do this."

Steve's eyes darken, and he makes a rumbling, feral sound as he dives back down to lavish Bucky with the specialized attention of his fantastically talented tongue. Gripping the sheets on either side of his splayed body, Bucky closes his eyes and lets himself float, his nerve endings sizzling with every miniscule movement of Steve's mouth, his body sheened with sweat, his damp hair fanned out on the pillow. Steve's tongue is hot and wet and deft as he alternates between quick, penetrating jabs and slow, languid swipes as if he knows exactly what to do, where and when; then again, he probably does, considering the number of times they locked one or the other of their bedroom doors so their mothers wouldn't walk in on them or pulled the shades in their coldwater Brooklyn flat to stymie the prying eyes of their neighbors or snuck away from the Howlies to steal moments alone together.

Nostalgia swells within Bucky's chest cavity, swirling and melding with the pleasure swelling everywhere else until he can't control the sounds pealing from his throat, growing in intensity until he thinks he's losing his mind and he can't take another second. His legs quiver uncontrollably within Steve's grasp, and his grip on the sheets tightens. Before he realizes it's happening, his orgasm blindsides him like a three hundred pound linebacker, wrenching a fervent cry from his lungs as he shoots all over himself. Steve hastily abandons his post to swallow Bucky's cock, wringing from him the last of his release and leaving him trembling and moaning.

"Fuck," Steve pants as he slides up the bed and plasters himself to Bucky's side. "That was _incredible_ , babe. Did—"

He's rudely interrupted by Bucky's tongue in his mouth, but he doesn't seem terribly put out about it.

"You're still hard," Steve slurs after several minutes of feverish kissing, which Bucky would gladly continue until they both starved to death if he wasn't so desperate for more of Steve – _all_ of Steve.

"Go figure," Bucky says, rolling on top of Steve and grinding his hard-on against Steve's hip. "My bargain-basement serum had _some_ positive effects, at least."

Steve laughs and widens the space between his legs, allowing Bucky to fit neatly into it. "Buck?"

Nibbling his way up Steve's jaw line, Bucky replies with a distracted "Hmm?"

"Can we...?"

"What's that, baby?" Bucky nips at Steve's neck. "You want me to fuck you?"

Steve groans, clutching at Bucky's shoulders. " _Yes_."

"Do we have—"

"Clear bottle, red lid. Nightstand. My side."

Bucky retrieves the bottle from the drawer and waggles it at Steve. "What is it? Doesn't look like Vaseline."

"It's better." Steve watches Bucky crawl back to kneel between his legs. "It's liquid, but it's a lot more slippery. Silicone based." A stricken expression settles on his face, and Bucky cocks his head in concern.

"What?"

"I shouldn't assume just because we never did," Steve says, crestfallen. "If you want to use a rubber, I can go into town tomorrow and—"

Bucky frowns, mystified. "Why would I wanna do that?"

"Well," Steve says, his blush evident even in the dim light, "it's kind of a big thing now, and I don't know – if you're worried about what I've been doing, or—"

"Steve." Bucky drapes himself over Steve's torso again, propping himself on his elbows to rub the tip of his nose against Steve's. "I'm not worried about what you've been doing." He pauses, smirking. "Why, what've you been doing?"

"Nothing!" Steve sputters. "I mean, I've just been looking at the internet. You can learn a lot of stuff. But the only sex I've had since we were together is with myself and a few, uh, toys."

Snorting laughter, Bucky shakes his head. "The way you put that is _so_ you." He kisses Steve, a quick peck that nonetheless expresses all of the trust and gratitude and love he's ever felt for the man spread out before him on their – _their_ – bed in _their_ bedroom in _their_ little country paradise. "I haven't been with anyone, either," he whispers, sucking briefly on Steve's earlobe before he pulls back and kneels once again between Steve's splayed thighs. Steve watches with a small smile playing on his lips as Bucky pops open the red cap on the clear bottle and douses his fingers in the slippery liquid, both of them snickering when a big dollop of it slides off Bucky's fingers and plops onto the bed.

Bucky shrugs. "Fuck it; we'll need to wash everything anyway after this."

"Good thinking." Steve wiggles deeper into the mattress, spreading his legs further still as Bucky coats his fingers with the lube before hesitating with his hand close to but not touching Steve's ass.

"Are you sure you—"

" _Bucky_ ," Steve groans, grimacing as if in pain, "I'm sure. Are you?"

Bucky's tongue swipes across his lower lip. "I want you so fucking much. I just don't want to hurt you."

"Listen." Steve reaches for Bucky's metal hand, which happens to be the unlubricated one at the moment. "It takes a lot to hurt me; you know that. And besides, I heal fast, remember? Anyway, I told you, I've had a little, uh, practice." He looks sheepish, and Bucky has never loved him more.

"I need you to promise me something," Bucky says, solemn as he can muster.

"Anything." Steve squeezes his metal hand, and Bucky warms at the realization that he can actually _feel_ the touch; as the Wakandan doctors promised, his nerves must indeed be repairing themselves where the surgeons painstakingly attached them to the mechanical components inside the arm. It doesn't surprise him, however, that this revelation immediately takes a backseat to Steve lying naked and eager before him.

He'll deal with his regenerated nerves later.

Bucky fixes Steve with a playful leer. "You need to let me watch you play with those toys sometime."

"Oh, God." Steve throws an arm over his eyes, actually _giggling_ , which makes Bucky flush with joy. As far as he knows, he's the only person who can make Steve giggle.

"'Oh, God' nothing," Bucky says, leaning over to kiss Steve's sternum. "I always loved watching you touch yourself, sugar. Fuck, does that turn me on."

Steve grins, pushing gently on the top of Bucky's head. "Shut up and finger me if you're gonna, you jerk."

"Yeah, yeah." Bucky draws back, smirking, and rests his middle fingertip against Steve's entrance, tracing light circles around the soft, furrowed skin as Steve squirms and sighs. Craving more – more of Steve's heat, more of his soft, longing sounds, more connection with him – Bucky presses inward, slow and gentle, and watches raptly as Steve's body swallows his finger. The heat inside Steve's incredible snugness is breathtaking, and Bucky braces himself on Steve's bent knee to avoid collapsing into a boneless heap. "God," Bucky breathes. "You're so tight... Jesus Christ."

"Mmm," comes Steve's response. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, his expression radiating utter bliss.

"I'm _inside_ you," Bucky marvels, almost under his breath.

"More," Steve sighs. "Baby, _please_."

Bucky adds a second finger alongside the first, his pulse fluttering in his throat, and Steve moans, his chest hitching. Steve takes both fingers beautifully, so tight but so fucking resilient Bucky can hardly believe he'd once forgotten this, and he positively aches to blanket Steve with his body, to push inside, to feel their shared heartbeat in every blood vessel in his body—

"Bucky," Steve begs, his eyes half lidded. "I'm ready. Please come here."

"Ungh." Breathing hard, Bucky withdraws his fingers and falls forward, catching himself by bracing his hands on the bed before his full weight can crash down on Steve. Rolling his hips, Bucky whimpers at the slick slide of his cock against the cleft of Steve's ass, and Steve echoes the sound unconsciously, wrapping his powerful legs around Bucky and rendering him all but immobile.

"Yes," Steve hisses, hooking a hand behind Bucky's neck and pulling him in for a needy kiss. "C'mon, baby, I want you so bad."

Bucky wants him at least as much, but he's unable to speak, so instead, he reaches between them to guide the tip of his throbbing cock where it needs to be, allowing the grip of Steve's legs to draw him closer as he presses inside, Steve's welcoming warmth enveloping him from all sides. After everything he's endured over seventy-some years of hell, to be right back where he belongs – to be _home_ – is almost overwhelming, and his eyes fill with tears that he ignores as they spill down his cheeks.

"Shh." Steve reaches up and tucks Bucky's hair behind both ears and then gently thumbs away the wetness on his cheekbones, a soft smile touching his lips. His eyes are overbright in the dimness of the room, too, and Bucky can't hold back a sound that's half sob, half groan, dipping down to claim Steve's mouth again.

"'S'that okay?" Bucky mumbles, resting his weight on his forearms just to remain as close to Steve as he possibly can, leaving them belly to belly and face to face.

"God, _yes_ , you feel so good," Steve says in a voice so deep and gravelly that the sound goes straight to Bucky's groin. Steve's eyes are closed, but they flutter open as Bucky watches from inches away, and the broken-open look on Steve's face when Bucky draws his hips back and pushes forward again in a long, slow slide makes Bucky's heart lurch in his chest.

"I love you," Bucky breathes, lowering his head to kiss the damp, faintly salty skin of Steve's neck and shoulder.

Steve answers with a growl, his legs tightening around Bucky's waist as if to spur him on. It works. Bucky lifts himself higher, supporting himself with his hands, and rocks his hips harder against Steve, plunging deeper into him and drawing a broken cry from his lungs. With a helpless groan, Bucky allows his head to loll forward, his long hair brushing Steve's chest with every thrust. As their movements increase in intensity, the headboard begins tapping the wall, creating a beat to keep time with their rhythmic motion; their gasps and grunts and moans add a sweet harmony to a song that brings back so many memories that a panic attack tickles the edge of Bucky's brain, and he has to focus hard to ground himself.

Supporting the weight of his upper body with his metal arm, he runs his flesh fingers through Steve's damp hair, shifting his attention from panic to sensation: the sight of Steve's lips, parted to permit his beautiful sounds; the smell of their soap and their sweat; the sound of the bedsprings squeaking and of the groans and gasps both of them emit; the sweet, familiar flavors of Steve's mouth and skin lingering on his tongue; and the delicious waves of pleasure undulating throughout his hyper-stimulated body and washing over him, building and building toward the epic crest looming on the horizon.

"Steve," Bucky mutters urgently, his thrusts growing hard and jerky, tossing his hair back for an unobstructed view.

Steve nods, panting, clutching Bucky's shoulders. "Me, too."

"Fuck, yeah." Bucky reaches between them to palm Steve's cock, which is hot to the touch and leaking steadily at the tip, and strokes him once, twice, before Steve's iron thighs clamp down on Bucky's hips as he comes hard with a strangled shout, his body arching off the bed entirely except for his shoulders and head. Bucky wraps his flesh arm around Steve's waist, keeping his hips elevated, and pumps into him only a few times more until his own consciousness disintegrates, and he lets go with a guttural cry.

When his awareness returns, Bucky finds himself on top of Steve, their sweaty flesh melding, Steve's arms wrapped tightly around him and his fingers stroking through Bucky's wet, disheveled hair. Pressing his lips to Bucky's temple, Steve whispers, "Hey."

"Mmmh." Bucky, unable to lift his head from Steve's shoulder, at least manages to roll it to the side to free his mouth from Steve's skin. "You okay?"

"I've never been happier than I am right now," Steve says, nuzzling against Bucky's hairline. "How's that for okay?"

"Pretty damn good." Bucky kisses the underside of Steve's jaw, then musters the strength to raise his head. "You know you were the only thing I remembered, right?"

That look crosses Steve's face – the look that means he's probably not going to cry, but it'll take some effort. "Really?"

Bucky nods, smiling a little and cupping Steve's cheek with his metal hand. He can _feel_ the warmth of Steve's skin against his palm. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Helping me remember everything else," Bucky says with half a shrug. "But you know what's better than getting all those old memories back?"

Steve just looks at him, and Bucky swears he can see stars in Steve's eyes. It's a thought that warms him, his smile widening, genuine.

"Making new ones with you."

"And you say _I'm_ sappy," Steve groans, chuckling.

Bucky feigns offense. "Fuck you, Rogers."

"You just did." Steve waggles his eyebrows. " _Very_ well, too. I'd give you an eight out of ten."

"An eight?" Bucky exclaims, and Steve cackles and tries to escape, but Bucky grabs him by the waist and drags him back onto the bed. "I demand a recount!"

"I'll give you a recount," Steve manages, breathless with laughter.

Bucky cocks an eyebrow. "How 'bout you give me something else, soldier?"

Steve's attempt at a retort is muffled by Bucky's mouth, but judging by the way he melts into Bucky's kiss, he probably doesn't remember what he was going to say, anyway.

**


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's been like… the best dream I ever had. Like a fairy tale. Just you and me and nothing but time to spend together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read [**Belonging**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9130267), this itty bitty chapter/epilogue will make more sense!
> 
> Now that this baby is wrapped up, time to start collaborating with my awesome artist for the RBB! Woohoo!

"Everything's in the car, and there's even enough room left for both of us."

Bucky nods, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his buttery-soft black leather jacket, and pokes his head into the bedroom. The closet is empty, the bed bare, and Bucky sighs. Scuffing the soles of his sneakers against the carpet, he crosses the main room to join Steve in the kitchen doorway, where he turns around to survey the house one last time.

"Hey," Steve murmurs, wrapping his arms around Bucky from behind. "We don't _have_ to go, Buck. It's a month to month lease on this place. We can stay here, take some more time to think about it if you want."

Bucky sniffles, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand. "Nah, it's not that." He tips his head back and rests his temple against Steve's. "I'm ready to get back into society and start helping people, y'know… start making up for all the damage I caused."

"Then what is it?" Steve nuzzles at the shell of Bucky's ear, making him chuckle under his breath.

"It's… all this," Bucky says, gesturing toward the living room from their vantage point in the doorway between the mudroom and the kitchen. "It's been like… the best dream I ever had. Like a fairy tale. Just you and me and nothing but time to spend together."

"Buck," Steve says, his tone somber and earnest as he turns Bucky to face him and wraps his arms even tighter around his waist, "I promise, no matter how many aliens or robots or evil demigods we run into, there will _always_ be time for us. If it ever gets to the point where there's not, I don't want to be a part of it anymore."

Smiling a little, Bucky nods, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Steve's lips. "Okay," he says, his voice trembling minutely, but Steve notices – of course Steve notices.

"Oh, sweetheart." Steve slides his fingers into Bucky's hair and holds him in place, his blue eyes locked with Bucky's and radiating comfort and sympathy. "I know it's gonna be tough to adjust. You haven't been part of a team since the Howlies. I promise everybody'll accept you right away. They'll take you in like family. It's what they do. They're the only reason I survived the first few years out of the ice without you."

"I know." Bucky nods, casting his eyes downward, but Steve tips his chin up with a fingertip.

"And I'll be there," Steve whispers. "I'm never leaving you. I swear it on my life."

Bucky tightens his arms around Steve's ribs, burying his face in Steve's neck and breathing him in; they stand silently, swaying back and forth a little, until Bucky takes a deep, juddering breath and lifts his head.

"All right," he says, turning to face the room, one arm still slung around Steve's waist. "It's just a place, right? We have a lot of memories here, but the place doesn't make the memories." He turns his head and stretches for a kiss, brief but wet and warm and perfect, before favoring Steve with a wide, genuine grin. " _We_ do."

"Damn right we do."

Together, they lock up the little rental house, walk hand in hand down the porch steps, and get into the car. Steve programs the GPS with the coordinates for the Avengers facility in upstate New York, and as they pull away from the house and start down the long driveway, Bucky takes one last glance over his shoulder, smiles fondly, and faces forward toward the future.

 _Their_ future.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated! You can find me on [Tumblr](https://venusdoom3.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading!


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